So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.
Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.
One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.
All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.
So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.
And Mr. Hargrove loved it.
It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.
Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”
And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.
Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.
One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.
That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.
And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.
And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)
So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.
Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.
This is the first time I’ve seen this post but I know I’m gonna love reading it every time it shows up on my dash
‘stockholm syndrome’ being invented by a police negotiator to explain away why a hostage said police actions were making her and the other hostages feel unsafe is like. yeah
Enough random notes that have a written story on them as environmental storytelling, explore the space, get crazier with it.
You move into a house and aw cute, it has the kids height on the walls but you notice there’s a three foot difference in height between measurements, you check the date, they’re a month apart. The final measurement is on the ceiling. It’s dated two days ago.
You’re part of a recovery team that have finally found a stranded ship, they were found too late and have all passed a long time ago. They all died of starvation. You enter their storeroom, it’s filled with food. In the dining hall you find the tables laden with perfectly fine looking breads, cakes, cured meats, jams, candies. Your medic says all the people sitting at the table didn’t eat a Thing.
You wake up in an apocalypse. You can’t find anyone at all as you wander the streets but you do hear faint music playing from somewhere. You stumble into a supermarket, to see all the aisles still full, except for the shelf that was full of ear plugs, which look to be the only thing that was looted.
Like there’s light, sound, props. Having a street where every house is decimated except for One. Landing on a planet known for having No Water and a plant is growing and you don’t know where it could have possibly gotten moisture from but you can’t find the citizens Anywhere.
I’m sorry, I’m just kinda over the “graffiti on the wall to show the bad guy is around”. That’s not environmental storytelling that’s just normal story. Show me I’m in the villains territory by the rain suddenly cutting out above me as I’m driving, even though it’s meant to be raining all night. I park the car and step out, and realise the constellations are Wrong, until I see they’re Not constellations, they’re the blinking lights of a massive ship-
I Will stop now because everytime I go to write a sentence it devolves into another prompt but I’m just saying we have a Lot of senses, engage them, show me the Environment in environmental storytelling.
my girlfriend wanted more than the amount of children you can adopt in skyrim so she taught herself how to mod it so that you could adopt them all, and uploaded it to a skyrim modding community so other likeminded player could utilize her code.
months later, an update was added to skyrim that was basically her code, verbatim, lifted directly from the mod, without credit or even permission. this made her so angry that she, at age seventeen, booked a flight to maryland, went to bethesda headquarters and demanded to see todd himself to yell at him.
of course, she was immediately denied this request and escorted out of the building because she was a scary six foot seventeen year old canadian lesbian who had flown all the way to yell at a man who probably had no idea her code was stolen, but she is still legitimately, 100% furious with him to this day
i fucking love her.
FACE YOUR CRIMES, HOWARD
i’ve long since retired from collecting fake internet stories but this stands out in my mind as one that’s just so bold faced and iconic because at no point in skyrim was there an update that allowed you to adopt more than 2 children. i love this post
if you guys thought you had a weird middle school experience my whole grade was convinced I was an actual literal werewolf for 3 years to the point where people were afraid of me so come 8th grade the popular girl had a huge Halloween party on her farm that everyone went to that just happened to coincide with the full moon so I staged a whole elaborate ‘transformation’ at the end of the night and scared the shit out of all of them. I don’t think I’ll ever top that
the prisoner of azkaban had just come out. we were a bunch of bored idiot kids in the boonies. everyone thought they could identify a werewolf and I just happened to have illnesses that often took me out of school around the time of the full moon every month. it didn’t help that I had been the ‘wolf kid’ since elementary. and I’m not saying I didn’t play into it when I found out the rumor — teen wolf (1985) was one of my favorite movies so of course I wanted to pretend I was living it.
but this went on for years. I had kids showing up behind my house on the full moon hoping to catch me changing. people were afraid to invite me to sleepovers. so when I finally got invited to a party, on that full moon no less, I went all out. I waited for the moon to rise. I hid a costume werewolf head and clawed gloves in the woods, snuck out there mid-party while 30-something kids were gathered around a bonfire, changed, ripped my clothes and started howling from the trees. some brave souls started to investigate and that’s when I started to chase them. pandemonium broke out. and oh, did I have the time of my life, because I hated most of these kids. revenge of the nerds, and all that. they’d teased me for years for things I couldn’t help like being sickly or having too much hair on my body.
I made my getaway with a friend at the end, and left the rest to wonder. most of them realized the prank and later laughed it off with me. but there was one kid who, senior year of high school, admitted I intimidated him because he still believed I was a werewolf. I put my arm around his shoulder, told him, “Between you and me, I am,” and gave him a wink. even after graduation, that guy looked at me like I would eat him alive.
I gotta say, there are worse things to be than a teenage werewolf
I’m sure there are better things to be than a teenage werewolf, but nothing comes to mind
